When I was in grad school I wrote my master's thesis on the "shadow side" of the bride role. One of the things I talked about was that when going through a big archetypal event (like marriage, or having a baby) people feel activated by their own relationship to the event and then entitled to share whatever opinions or thoughts may have occurred to them. It's always the other person's stuff thats being projected, but that doesn't make it any easier for the bride-to-be or mom-to-be who is already in a sensitive place. This definitely happens way less with regards to miscarriage because people don't really like to talk about it (slash are afraid to talk about it) as a general rule, but there have still been some real doozies in my experience. Sometimes they are actually hilarious. 

Last week I had a preoperative appointment at the hospital. They did a physical, asked me a lot of questions, had me fill out stacks and stacks of medical history forms, and drew a bunch of blood. The lady who drew my blood waited until it was just she and I in a tiny room and then began to chat with me. At first it was nice, she asked about what I did for a living and what surgery I was having and why. When I told her, her face got grave and she lowered her voice a bit and asked if I believed in ghosts and spirits. I instantly began looking around the room for the hidden camera and toward the medical supply closet out of which I assumed Ashton Kutcher would be popping momentarily.  I tried to be diplomatic and responded that I believe in spirit and energy and prayed that she didn't press me on the specific ghost issue.  She then proceeded to imply that maybe if I just relaxed I wouldn't have miscarried (incredibly helpful, thank you). Next she went on to tell me that because I am a therapist that perhaps the ghosts or bad energy of past clients are attached to me. I asked if she could point me in the direction of the nearest ghost cleansing facility. No, actually, I just nodded politely and did my best to wrap up the conversation. She instructed me that I should be particularly careful about hugging or touching people other than those who I am very close to because that is a surefire way to transfer energy and ghosts. I mean, I had no idea. Here i've been depositing ghosts all over town!  She also told me that she has a sense that as soon as I get pregnant again I should not work and I wondered if she was planning on bankrolling me for those 9 months.

This whole experience actually made me laugh, but I imagine if I had been in a slightly more fragile place it might have been pretty distressing. When I told my girlfriend afterwards she said, "I feel like this stuff only happens to you!". It may be true that the ...um... eclectic personalities of the world sense a certain kinship with me and feel comfortable unleashing the full power of their colorful belief systems. I guess I'm okay with that as long as I can keep reasonable boundaries. In a way I was grateful for this conversation, because in the midst of a week where pre-op hormones and stress were making it difficult for me to find the humor in it all, this lady swooped in with a diagnosis of ghosts on the uterus that I found too brilliant not to laugh about. Thank you, lady, I would have hugged you had we not already discussed the clear and present dangers of that. 

Today is going to be a short post because there are times in this process (and in life in general) where you don't know what to say. I've been honest about pretty much every other aspect of the journey and I want to be honest about this too. There are times when finding a fresh perspective just isn't easy.

In this two week stretch leading up to my surgery and would-be due date I'm feeling adrift (which is a nice way to say I've been a total mess of a zombie on the inside). I partially want to be coddled and partially want to be left alone. I partially want to talk because that's usually what makes me feel better, but I also don't want to (slash don't know how to) talk about it. The hermit lifestyle is seeming oddly appealing. This week is filled with pre-operative appointments. That means a lot of sitting in waiting rooms with medical record forms that require me to fill out : Number of pregnancies : 1. Number of live births: 0 (yeah, ok, I get it, thank you for hitting that point home, Universe). Yesterday I stared down at that very line and couldn't tell if I wanted to laugh or cry or just use the paper to throw away my gum. I honestly couldn't tell if I was bored by it or still freshly tormented by it.

I think we're allowed to have these moments. There are still so many in betweens and unknowns and things that can't be controlled that having it all sorted internally seems like a whole lot to ask. I was going to skip writing altogether this week, but I decided against that because I do want to say this : if you are out there not knowing how to put your finger on how you're feeling (no matter what happens to be going on in your life), I get that. I am working on giving myself a break. I am working on telling myself that there is no time limit on figuring it all out. I'm working on remembering that being lost is a crucial part of being found. I hope you can do that too. 

Since the very first days of being pregnant one date was set apart from all the rest. August 28th, 2014. My due date.

I've gone through phases with August 28th. First it was a beautiful shining jewel of a date that I longed for, then it was a date I tentatively circled in my planner, then it was a mark in my calendar that I hated myself for writing it in pen and not pencil, and then finally, finally, FINALLY it was a day I decided I would set aside to do something really special for myself. 

A little while after my miscarriage, my mom gave me a tiny gold ring engraved with 8-28-14 and a teeny heart as a way of honoring the experience as a whole. I remember when she gave it to me she said, "You don't have to wear it if it makes you sad, I just wanted you to have it". When I first received it I didn't know how I felt about it. However, as the days have gone by I look down at that tiny ring and it is such a strange kind of comfort. It reminds me that what happened to me was important enough to memorialize. It reminds me of the sadness, sure, but also the love that is around me. And on the days that ever being pregnant feels like just a dream, I look at it and remember it happened and that I lived and am living though all that came after.

As my thwarted due date draws nearer, however, I find all sorts of emotions being kicked up. Emotions that I thought I had fairly successfully resolved are back and fresh as a daisy. Suddenly I'm noticing every woman who looks like she's about to pop (would it sound paranoid if I said I feel like they're following me?). I have to hold myself back from manically grabbing each of them and asking : What would I be feeling right now?? Do you feel so, so lucky?? For this and other reasons that also point to me becoming ever-so-slightly unglued, I made a plan to reclaim my due date. I thought treating myself to a massage or a day trip or a fun evening with friends would be the right way to not give August 28th all the power. The Universe apparently had other plans for me that day. 

As I've shared in previous posts, post-miscarriage testing revealed a uterine anomaly that has to be surgically corrected. Due to insurance issues and Chris switching jobs I knew I had to do the surgery before September 1. And what was the only day that my doctor could perform the surgery, you ask? Why, 8-28-14, of course. I kid you not. I actually almost burst into a fit of laughter when the medical secretary told me. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it would work out like this, because as we have learned, the Universe loves to have a bit of a chuckle at me. I hung up the phone with the secretary and felt that initial blast of dark humor dissolve to make way for the the weight of the world crashing down on me. The thought of opening my eyes in a hospital bed post surgically on the day that I theoretically would have been there to give birth just seemed so cruel (of course I'm not underestimating the silver lining of being benevolently knocked out by general anesthesia for a good portion of the day). 

I called in the High Counsel of Talking Becca Off a Ledge and conversations with them slowly helped me to begin to reframe August 28th. Perhaps one way or another my energy was meant to change that day. I'd like to believe that the powers-that-be had earmarked that day for some sort of Earth-shifting event and maybe it just isn't the one I expected or hoped for. To be honest, I have no clue how I am going to feel when I wake up on the 28th. I am sure I will be nervous and maybe a little sad, but I hope that in addition to that I can view the day as the start of something new. The last 9 months didn't conclude with a baby for me, but that gestational period instead brought forth connections, growth, insight, and new depths of emotion and empathy. It brought me thousands of chances to practice keeping my sense of humor in the darkest of times. It brought me a greater knowledge of the incredible support system I am lucky enough to have around me. It brought me all of you that tune in to read this blog every week (for which I am flooded with gratitude). August 28th was clearly always meant to be a charged day for me, but I think at this point I will be able to have a hand in how it unfolds and what it represents. Now when I look down at the date engraved on my ring I will not only think about this experience, what it taught me, and what it left me with, but I hope I will also see the date when a new chapter began. 

A few weeks back when I asked for guest blogger submissions and I received a very special one from one of my favorite bloggers Marisa Bardach Ramel (check out her blog Sally's Circle ). In the past I've written about the idea of "Rainbow Babies" -- the children that are born following a miscarriage. Low and behold, Marisa is a real live Rainbow Person who was kind enough to share the unique perspective that it has given her. Since the experience of miscarrying, I've talked about how many people have stepped forward to say that they have also experienced it, but what I haven't mentioned as much is that an equal amount of people have shared that their parents experienced a miscarriage either before or after they were born. I've been fascinated to hear the impact that miscarriage has had on their lives and the dynamics within their families. Despite the fact that is not talked about very much, the phantom of miscarriage lingers on in big ways and small with every person it touches. The ramifications are not always negative. In Marisa's case it has left her with a rich understanding and well of hope for those who have been through this expeirence. However she can explain better than I can so without further ado... I'll pass the mic to Marisa....

I've railed on in this blog against the unfairness of the fact that my life is still very much effected by both the financial and medical ramifications of the most heartbreaking experience of my life. On a daily basis credit card statements, hospital bills, follow up appointments, and insurance documents pull me back into the murky mire of a pain that I keep mistakenly thinking I've outrun (I never have been much of a runner). This post is less about the features of that particular beast though and more about the response I have had to have to the inevitability of its presence in my life. I have had to build an armor of information and health-care system knowledge even though it very much goes against my natural inclinations (I'm a lover, not a fighter, you know?). I have had to obtain this armor however, because it is very apparent that those who do not have said protective gear are pulled under and trampled over in this battlefield of reproductive disfunction and medical need. 

I am not a numbers person. I never have been. I got by in math class until I graduated high school and then let my math brain go into early retirement. When the bill comes at dinner I hand it to someone else to divvy up. I throw my pay stubs in an envelope and with little to no thought (until its time to panic at tax time). I forget to look at price tags and then have zero ability to quickly add up in my mind how much things are worth to determine if I'm being overcharged. So, when it comes to navigating deductibles and insurance coverage that same numbing of my synapsis always seems to occur. I can hear the insurance representative speaking in what seems to be a reasonable tone seemingly laying out a logical progression of thoughts, but her words are not translating into my language. It can feel belittling and I often feel the need to interrupt the representative and suggest that perhaps she ought to speak to a grown up about this rather than myself (then I remember I am one of those). So the first part of the armor has been wrapping my brain around deductibles, co-insurance, EOBs, COBRA, and all manner of other acronyms I never had reason to know before. I've had to demystify this process for myself and take ownership over it. I've had to remind myself that no one expects me to be an expert on everything (except myself apparently). It has been my new strategy to remind myself that informed deferment to the people that actually are experts on this stuff is okay.

The next part of the armor has everything to do with self-advocacy as it pertains to my medical plan. It's strange that this should be difficult for me as a big part of my job at the hospital was being a patient advocate and encouraging patients to advocate for themselves. However, when it comes to my own life it feels quite a bit more complicated. I get paranoid. I do not like to be a bother. I don't like the idea of being the patient about whom the medical secretary secretly rolls her eyes. However, I am finding that if I don't keep track of the intricacies of my own medical needs and follow up on them with the doctors myself, they will often go unaddressed. Sometimes this takes multiple calls, call backs, emails, and, hey, sometimes it takes tracking down a physicians vacation home and staking out in the backyard overnight (kidding. don't be frightened). 

I think self-advocacy is key in many medical specialties, but there is an added layer that I am beginning to uncover when it comes to reproductive endocrinology.  The more I am in this world and speak to other women who are as well, the more my theory is backed up. No physician or nurse or secretary would ever admit this, but there is a certain underlying attitude toward women who require reproductive support. I'm not suggesting this energy is created maliciously. It's indirect and never acted on, but it exists. It's palpable. It's a certain gentle implication of desperation, a nod toward the archetype of the neurotic woman with biological clock ticking , a hint of blaming deep-seated and justified emotions on simply being "hormonal". A certain degree of this exists, but you know what else exists and trumps all that? The questions that I need to get answered. If it takes persistence and fortitude to get those answers -- I've decided I am ready to go to battle.  

So what I am turning over in my mind today is how to be this empowered warrior in a strange land unapologetically. I am finding that the more of my genuine self I bring to the process, the more I am treated with humanity. I have had to rise above the paranoia about being "that patient" and reframe it for myself that I am the hero of my own healthcare plan. I've had to remind myself that when I was on the other side of this, I never thought patients with a lot of questions were a bother, I thought they were engaged. I felt for them. I wanted to help all the more. This is battle none of us signed up for, but we were drafted into it and now our best strategy is bravery, heart, knowledge, and hope.

Over the weekend I was lucky enough to have a little escape with a dear girlfriend in her hometown by the sea. While there, I got to meet some of her family who were also in town. They were lovely and we had a great time getting to know each other. I felt instantly comfortable with them. As we chatted they asked how long I'd been married and about my job. Someone asked, "So are you guys planning on kids soon?" Dun dun dunnnnn. There was The Question. A question that has become unbelievably loaded for me this year. I've gone through phases with it. I'm in a relationship with it. It's my dearest hope and greatest enemy. It's nothing and everything. 

There was a time that question made me want to burst into tears. There was a time it made me extremely anxious. There was a time it made me angry. Now it does none of those things, but it still makes me squirm slightly only because I struggle with the right way to answer at this point in my journey.  How do I answer honestly, while not making the asker uncomfortable? How do share without over-sharing? How do I keep the conversation casual, without glazing over and disrespecting the deep hurt I'm still lugging around? So I said : "Yes, we definitely want to, but we've had a bit of a bumpy road in that area". I figured, that gives enough that they could inquire more if they wanted to, but if they were uncomfortable we could just leave it at that. One of the moms present offered a tip she used when she was having trouble conceiving. I could tell the miscarriage drift hadn't quite been caught and that was totally fine. Then there were some questions about how long we'd been trying and it started to feel weirdly disingenuous not to clarify. I figure, it is part of my mission to be open about this stuff anyway, so I shared (in as breezy a tone as possible where this topic is concerned) that the problem hadn't been getting pregnant as much as staying pregnant. This time it was met with understanding and was responded to in as kind a way as I could have possibly hoped for. As has been shown to me over and over during this experience, warm openness is 99.9% of the time met with warm openness in return no matter how potentially uncomfortable the subject matter. Despite any slight awkwardness, I am so completely grateful for every person that shows interest in an open dialogue about something that is so easily and often brushed under the rug.

This experience got me thinking about The Question. It got me thinking about how we talk about this stuff and the self-imposed timelines and restrictions we put on it. 

One of the first follow up questions that is often asked when I share about my miscarriage is : "Oh, was this recent?"  When I say it was six months ago I wonder what that means to the asker. What does it mean to me? Does that mean I should be over it by now? Is the time to talk about it drawing to a close? Do I get some sort of extension because I still have so many unresolved reproductive medical issues? Of course anyone would say, there is no "right answer" to how long to mourn or how long to talk about it, but sometimes there is a certain undeniable internal pressure to "be okay" and to make it feel okay for others too. I guess the best we can hope to do is answer The Question in a manner that is consistent with where we are in our journey and not to judge that place. Maybe the answer is as simple as the truth. I can't control if I make someone else a little uncomfortable with the truth of what is going on with me and if I shy away from the topic I miss an opportunity to normalize the larger conversation about miscarriage. I think if we find ways to share from an honest and comfortable place, then others will pick up on that energy and everybody will benefit. I mean, I'm not saying you shouldn't also read a room before launching into a charming miscarriage anecdote (thats not a thing), but if the asker seems interested, then there is no reason to be embarrassed to share the reality of the situation.  Answering the questions that get thrown our way after miscarriage without that pesky added layer of shame seems like an important step in the quest Ever Forward. It sends the message to others, and more importantly to ourselves, that life can move forward and feel normal despite experiencing something traumatic.

What ways have you found to answer potentially tricky questions about miscarriage, infertility, or otherwise? 
Leave your suggestions in the comment section if you have ideas--i'm sure they'd benefit everyone who reads!! 

In the world of infertility and pregnancy loss there are many strange and unexpected circumstances in which I never dreamed I would find myself. In fact, I was blissfully ignorant to an entire world that so many women inhabit. Now I am oh so initiated and let me tell you : it's weird. It's so very, very weird, friends.

The other day I had to go for an HSG--in case you don't know, it's this test where they shoot you up with dye under an X-Ray and see what's cooking in your uterus and fallopian tubes. I was told it was incredibly uncomfortable by several trustworthy sources (no, not just google) and so I was nervous. The details of the procedure were fairly uneventful--first take a pregnancy test (because they just like to rub it in, I guess), change into another hideous sacky hospital gown, assume a compromising position in an exam room, and have something decidedly not fun done to your insides. The physical discomfort was reduced by taking a bit more than the recommended dose of Advil beforehand (disclaimer : I'm not a doctor, I'm not a drug pusher, and I am in no way recommending going against whatever medical advice your doc gives you, but when my "sources" suggested I go to town on the ibuprofen, I did, and for me, it seemed to help). The good news was that my fallopian tubes are in great shape (in case you were losing sleep over that) with no sign of the blockage that the MRI had originally suggested. Which brings me back to this bizarre world in which I live where I utter sentences like "At least now I only have to have surgery on my uterus". But hey, one less surgical intervention? I'll take it.

The takeaway from this experience had very little to do with the actual medical details, however, and more to do with taking new steps on my continuing quest to find ways to decrease the emotional discomfort. The thing I was left turning over in my mind was the idea of how to merge this odd world (a world of tests, discovering "egg reserves" are a thing, cryptic acronyms, ovulation, surgical interventions, and the depressing purgatory vibe of old waiting-room magazines) with the world I have (for the most part) comfortably been navigating up until this point.  How do I integrate this bizarre new world that has been thrust upon me with my pre-miscarriage life? How does it become just part of business-as-usual without feeling like it is stealing a little bit of my soul? 

Here's a piece that I am adding to the puzzle of the particular predicament of integrating the two worlds : it has to do with the way the day of my HSG appointment rolled out. Chris just started a new job so he couldn't leave to accompany me to the appointment as he usually would. Mom offered to fly in, but it's really not that big of a deal and so that felt unnecessary, so everyone's favorite series regular, my best friend and platonic life partner, Jeremy, was up to the plate (that dear man has a special place in Heaven where they erase all the knowledge of my uterus that has been forced upon him over the last 6 months à la Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind). The day turned out to be not nearly as miserable as I had anticipated. I had visions of the collective sadness and sense memory of returning to the building where I had my D&C crashing down on me hard, but it didn't really go that way. I am just now putting together why that might have been so I can recreate it in the future. Here's what I can deduce... 

One of the keys to bringing these conflicting worlds together is to actually just go ahead and physically mash them together even if it feels unnatural at first. I didn't set aside a day just for the energy of appointment. I could have. If I had left a little more room to wallow, believe me, I would have. Instead I met Jer for coffee in the morning as we do eight billion times a week, we grabbed a bite, we laughed at the serious-looking nurse who I feared would not be able to tolerate my sass-mouth in the exam room (she turned out to be excessively lovely), we marveled at the inexplicably and heart-wrenchingly beautiful United Colors of Benetton ad that were the secretaries at the hospital Radiology Department (clearly sourced from Central Casting), I told the doctor a funny story while she sent my uterus into unpleasant contractions, and we followed it all up with strawberry frozen yogurt with rainbow sprinkles. Afterwards, Jeremy put my drowsy butt into a cab back home and instead of the slow-motion cry I expected to have while feeling like a zombie ransacked of all my sparkle, I just felt like a slightly more tired, achy version of me.  

In short, I was just myself in a weird situation instead of letting the situation shift me off my usual trajectory into weird energy. Trust me, I know it is SO not easy to find laughter and normalcy in these decidedly abnormal circumstances. I know that being in medical environments such as these can start to feel disconcertingly similar to an Invasion of the Body Snactchers scenario. There have been plenty of times I've sat in a waiting room desperately wanting to separate myself from the other downtrodden uteri present. I've wanted desperately to scream, "Just so everyone knows--I'm not like all these other women! This isn't my life! I just took a wrong turn!" However, I think a key to unlocking this whole thing may be working toward a certain acceptance that these experiences are more an innocuous part of my world and less an interloper determined to wreck my entire existence as I know it. I'm not suggesting I should brush over honoring the magnitude of the physical and emotional trauma, but I also don't have to give it all the power. I do not have to be a pod person version of myself in this storyline. I am not "That Reproductively Challenged girl". I am messy, ridiculous, optimistic, silly, emotional, sarcastic, mush-ball Becca who happens to be making a special guest appearance in the Valley of the Infertile. It is a landscape I hope to not walk forever, but as long as I am here I will continue to look for ways to claim ownership of my stay. 

You know that saying, "You Can't Go Home Again?" I was wrestling with that saying a lot during a recent visit home to see opening night of a play my dad directed. I wanted to prove it wrong. Initially, all signs pointed to this saying being full of bologna. For example, the second I got home I was cradled by the smell of the air, the comfort of my childhood home, the familiar faces, and the easy unpretentiousness of a place that I know like the back of my hand.  I found myself smoothly slipping into the parallel universe version of myself that still inhabits that world. Can't go home again?! I thought. Ha! Watch me! 

However as the trip went on, I couldn't ignore a nagging conflict inside me. The last time I was home for an extended amount of time I was there to be in a play. It was a moment in my life where I had just left years of working 9-5 as a therapist in a hospital environment. I felt liberated in many ways. I was happy and on fire. It was a summer of late balmy nights, local bars, memorizing lines by the water, doing what I love, listening to the same much loved albums on repeat as I drove around town, and quality time with friends and family. I felt young and wild and free and bursting with possibilities and life. During my recent visit home there were times it felt like slipping on an old article of clothing that you expect to fit a certain way, but after wearing it around a bit you notice the seams are pulling slightly in a way you didn't remember. Had it always fit like this or had time shaped me into something new? I started to wonder if maybe it wouldn't be quite so easy to go back home in the way I always knew it (ugh I hate being wrong). 

There was a strange dissonance between effortlessly clicking back into the girl I was last summer and feeling about a thousand years older after the physical and emotional torment of the last six months. It made me think of that trauma theory that one re-experiences the trauma in a new way with each stage of development. I feel like that might also apply to being placed into various environments. The sense memories of home lit up my recent struggles in a new and unfamiliar light. As part of the theatre community of my hometown I saw many, many friends and acquaintances at the play. There was an instant comfort with everyone, but also this odd feeling that I wasn't sure if the person I was speaking to was aware of my deepest, darkest personal reflections (cuz, ya know, crazy me went and put them on the INTERNET). It felt like I was re-experiencing my trauma through the eyes of all these familiar faces and they were re-experiencing me through the eyes of the trauma. Part of me desired to be recognized for the trail of tears that I have walked and another part desperately wanted to keep that from everyones' minds so I could be carefree, fun Becca again. Doing fine. Doing just great. The city is wonderful. No complaints. Thanks for asking. 

No matter how much traveling home made me long to morph back into the woman I was a year ago (who had no idea what was about to hit her), being home also shone light on the ways this experience has helped me grow. I feel more deeply than ever (I hear my closest confidents collectively groaning and saying, please! enough with the feelings! she feels deeply enough! no more! we surrender!!) and I take nothing for granted. I absolutely see the world in a very different way than I did just one short year ago. Yes, there has been more pain, but I have to imagine that with that comes the increased potential for joy. Maybe I was initially hoping that going home would magically transform me into the same old hometown Becca who isn't scarred by miscarriage, or infertility, or surgery, but by the end of the trip, I realized I wouldn't want to go backwards anyway.

So no, I guess you can't go home again and expect to be the same version of yourself, but you can allow home to be a touchstone, a magnifying glass, and most importantly, you can let home evolve right along with you. 

I started this blog because after my miscarriage I wasn't finding what I personally needed on the Internet. I was craving access to the story of someone who could relate to what I was going through and who was approaching it with real-talk, self-reflection, and even a dark sense of humor every now and again.  Okay, basically I just wanted to know I wasn't crazy (or at least that I was that I was in great company if I was). Since I began this blog I have been overwhelmed with the amount of women who have come forth to say they completely relate and who have relayed their own unique viewpoints. It has sparked a sense of community that has been extremely validating. For me, the very act of sharing my truth in this forum has been empowering and clarifying. Now I would like to offer that same opportunity to anyone out there who is interested. I want to share the sense of camaraderie and support that I have been so grateful to have found through this blog.  SO..... I have decided to expand my Guest Blogger section to invite some of you to share publicly the powerful observations and reflections that I have been honored to have you share with me privately. I want to offer this site as a space where women can put their experiences out in the world boldly and in turn receive the kind of supportive feedback and understanding that we all crave. 

I know how maddening it is to feel bogged down by the emotions that follow miscarriage/infertility. Chances are, a lot of women who read this blog know about those things too. All too well. The comforting things is : no matter what you are experiencing, chances are, someone else out there has been through it, can relate, and has maybe even figured out a way to cope with it that you haven't thought of yet. I think as a group we have the potential to support each other and move (ever)forward in a really profound way. As a drama therapist I especially believe in the benefit of collaboration and shared stories in the therapeutic process and I would love to bring that spirit onto the blog for the mutual benefit of all reading and sharing. 

So here is your chance to share and play an active role in this little (but mighty) community we are building! Send your stories and thoughts to TheEverForward@gmail.com (keep them short-ish, maybe 500 words or less)! They can be absolutely anything that you want to get off your chest regarding the experience of miscarriage, infertility, etc. Also, if you have already sent me your story or thoughts in the past and want to give me permission to post them here drop me a line again and let me know. You can request to keep your story anonymous or not, just specify what you would prefer. Keep in mind! --you don't have to be someone who has personally experienced miscarriage or infertility to submit a story-- it would be equally appreciated and important and interesting to have the points of view of partners, best friends, siblings, parents, grandparents, aunts/uncles, dog walkers, physicians, reiki practitioners, shamans, spirit animals, and acquaintances.

Lets shake things up a little with some new energy, new voices, and new perspectives! I can't wait to hear from you! 

When I was diagnosed with a jankity uterus (to use the medical term) I was referred to a reproductive endocrinologist/surgeon who I was told would discuss my options moving forward. Being the Type-A gal I've always been, I called immediately to schedule my appointment and get the show on the road. I was given an appointment ... two months from the date I called.  Now, maybe that's reasonable in the world of Waiting For A Manhattan Specialist Who is Really Good at Her Job but it is just NOT reasonable for Very Impatient and Anxious Foiled Mama with Eight Thousand Questions. So at first, I was a bit disheartened, but then before long I gave into the fact that the next step was simply waiting for my appointment to arrive. I love my OB and this was the surgeon that she highly recommended so I decided it was worth the wait. I got comfortable with the whole waiting thing. I took weekend trips, I had cocktails with friends where the conversation did not revolve around my tragic reproductive system, I did a lot of writing, I started remembering that I am actually pretty valuable and even fun as a person separate from all the difficulties of the last six months. 

Then the day came. The day of my long-awaited appointment. It seemed surreal that after all the anticipation, all the ignoring, all the adjusting, all the distancing, all the moving forward, all the reclaiming of my role as a wife/friend/daughter/sister, it was now time to plunge back into the role of the patient. By the time the day came I was completely dreading what I had been praying would speed toward me just a few weeks earlier (I'm just so very hard to please, aren't I?). By the time the appointment came around I wasn't even sure what I wanted anymore. I knew I wanted a baby in the ever-present aching way that I had become accustomed to, but climbing another mountain toward said baby seemed more than I could wrap my head around. Just when I had let my hyper vigilant mommy shield down, it was time to go back into battle. I met a dear friend (the one who has been through all this garbage too) at a cafe before the appointment and broke down in tears the second she sat down. "You're just going to let the doctor give you information" she told me and it helped calm me down. Sitting down and gathering information. Alright. That seemed civilized. I could do that.

The appointment did begin in a quite civilized manner but gained speed like a tornado and ended up whipping us into an all-consuming vortex. I went in prepared simply to talk about surgery to correct my uterine septum and left with knowledge of a potential blocked fallopian tube, an appointment for a (quite uncomfortable, i'm told) HSG test, and down 12 vials of blood which were waiting to be analyzed for everything from genetic markers for disease to insufficient ovulation. All of a sudden we were scheduling a sperm analysis and bandying around terms like In Vitro Fertilization if X, Y, and Z happened to go wrong. Whoa whoa whoa whoa WHOA!!!!! I thought. I just barely wrapped my mind around this whole having to have surgery for a separated uterus thing! It was clear we were not in Kansas anymore. 

I left the appointment feeling flooded with the very information I thought would be comforting. My only life raft was the systematic plan that the doctor had laid out. The plan is complex and filled with PS's, Also's, and caveats (I won't bore you with those), but I tried to boil all the elements down to the very bare minimum : 1. do the HSG to make sure my fallopian tubes don't need intervention, 2. schedule uterine surgery, 3. recover, and 4. try again. Being the natural born worrier that I am I scoured the plan for actionable items. What can I do to make this go smoother, quicker, more successfully?? And then it hit me. There is NOTHING I can do. All I can do is put myself in the right hands (check), have a basic, but not neurotic level of information to be an informed self-advocate (check, for the most part, although some of this stuff has made me seriously doubt my understanding of the human body), and show up when I have an appointment (have you seen my planner?! check!!). 

It turns out the biggest actionable item on my part is reminding myself that no amount of googling, or fretting, or obsessing will change the plan. For better or for worse, this is the situation that I am in and now I just have to continue checking off boxes until that baby is in my arms. There will be plenty to do then I hear. Ideally I will get to a point where I can even luxuriate in the feeling of everything being out of my hands. I'm shooting for a very zen, Buddha take the wheel approach to this one. 

The interesting part that perhaps some of you can relate to, is that in the midst of all these things that I cannot control, there are a great number of things I actually can control that feel insurmountable (or simply uninteresting) in the face of all the medical commotion. For example, I could be developing a really on-point workout plan to lose the last of that post-miscarriage depression weight, I could be writing these blog posts well in advance instead of scrambling at the last minute, I could be kicking my private practice into hyper-drive. However, focusing on the things I can't control keeps stealing focus from those I can. Call it being human, call it just being ME, but I think finding a way to switch this imbalance of allocated energy is a big part of the work of moving forward. There is a fresh frontier of gray area between being gentle with myself and letting myself off the hook that I continue to butt up against and weed-whack through.  I'll keep on finding ways to transfer my desire to take control to those things I actually can control and as I do you better believe I'll continue to report back from the frontline.